


after the storm

by merricks



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Josh Lives, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Character, Other, Post-Canon, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26001238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merricks/pseuds/merricks
Summary: Everyone survived the events at the lodge, but now they have to figure out what comes next. (POV will switch between each character)I'm not finishing this, probably.
Relationships: Ashley Brown/Matt Taylor, Emily Davis/Sam Giddings, Mike Munroe/Jessica Riley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

8 DAYS AFTER

To his credit, Chris really did try to do what the doctors told him, but they were asking for a lot. No TV, no movies, no games, no computer, no phone, just “rest.” The first day after his night in hell, the idea had sounded almost appealing, but by now he’d realized there was nothing restful about it. His back was itchy from sweat even in the January chill as he lay in bed, willing his melatonin to kick in so he could sleep away a few of the endless hours staring at the ceiling while his brain “healed itself,” as his doctors had put it. Which was a crock of shit, because with nothing else to do but revisit the images of bodies severed in two and the impossible decisions that hadn’t mattered in the end, it felt more like his neurons were ripping themselves apart. He made it four whole days before the utter misery of sitting around in silent darkness became a bit too much to handle. If his concussion got worse because he started gaming again, well, maybe he’d end up an amnesiac and wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. 

The blood was slowly draining from the massive hematoma on his forehead and seeping into the bags beneath his eyes, leaving them puffy and purple. He looked like he’d had plastic surgery. Sam didn’t think it was as funny as he did. He pointed it out to her one night, after she interrupted his dissociative stakeout in front of the bathroom mirror to brush her teeth, and she clucked her tongue and said “I’m sure it’ll fade in a few days.” Chris didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t really want it to, that he’d rather the bruises stain his skin forever; the idea of looking at his reflection and seeing the same person he’d been before they went to the lodge made him want to puke.

Anyway, he was grateful for the no phone rule, even though he wasn’t following it. It gave him an excuse for not responding to Ashley’s semi-hourly  _ “i’m worried about you…” _ texts. What the hell was he supposed to do? Say there was nothing to worry about? He didn’t have the energy to keep up a front, and he definitely didn’t have the energy to console Ash about everything. And, of course, there were certain conversations he could only put off for so long. 

(God, she had kissed him. It felt like eons had passed since that moment, light years stretching out between them. She kissed him, and then he saw the Wendigo and saw the flamethrower guy die and saw _her_ nearly convince Mike to kill Emily--begging, pleading just like she had when the lever was in his trembling hand and he hadn’t been able to choose and what must Josh have been thinking, at that moment?--and she was still the same girl who kissed him, it seemed, but he wasn’t the guy she kissed anymore.)

Chris opened his laptop to run League of Legends for the millionth time that day. His eyes recoiled from the assault of the screen’s brightness in his dim bedroom and his head instantly began to ache in response. Groaning, he reached over for the bottle of extra-strength ibuprofen that had made its permanent home on his nightstand and poured a couple into his palm. For a moment he considered swallowing them dry, just to spare himself the effort of going to the kitchen for a glass of water, but then balked at the thought of the grainy texture and rolled painstakingly out of bed. 

Sam was in the kitchen, still dressed in her apron and polo shirt from work. She’d taken the week off after they returned from the mountain, but now she was right back at it. Chris had been concerned, but she’d waved him off, muttering something about not wanting to get behind on rent. He hadn’t even really thought about  _ his _ job since everything happened. They’d probably fired him. He knew he should probably be stressed about it, but he couldn’t muster up the will to care. 

“Hey, roomie,” Sam said. Strands of her dirty blond hair were sticking out around her hairline and the base of her ponytail and her eyes were shrouded in exhaustion, but her voice was cheery. “You’ve been hard to find today.”

“I decided to make an appearance,” he replied, giving her his best attempt at a smile. “For the fans.”

She gave him a once-over. “Is this the first time you’ve left your bed?”

“I’m resting,” he protested, hurriedly tucking his phone into the back pocket of his pajamas. “So my noggin can recover.”

“Nothing’s going to recover if you don’t eat anything.”

“I  _ ate, _ ” he lied. “Earlier today.” He turned away so Sam couldn’t read his face and plucked the gaudy blue mug with a menorah on it that Josh had bought him “for Hanukkah” last year from the cabinet. It was one of their last clean dishes. He could barely fit it under the tap with everything piled up so high in the sink. He vowed to wash them tomorrow, save Sam at least one little bit of trouble. “How was work?”

“It was…about the same as usual.” Sam was poking at her take-out in Chris’ peripheral vision. “We were short staffed again, since Janet can’t be bothered to show up. They’re still hiring, you know. I’ll put in a good word for you if you want.”

He shook his head vehemently. All this thinking about life going back to normal was making his headache worse. “I’d be a terrible waiter. You think I’d be able to remember anything like this?” He prodded a little too hard at his own forehead, making himself wince. “Thanks, though. I think I need to go, uh, rest some more.”

“Wait,” Sam said. Her entire demeanor had suddenly changed from fake-spry to deadly serious. “I was waiting to be able to tell you in person. Melinda called me this afternoon.” 

Chris had always thought it was weird that Sam called Josh’s parents by their first names. He was pretty sure he’d be calling them Mr. and Mrs. Washington forever. It took him a moment to process the gravity of what Sam had just said. “What did she say? Is there any news?”

“They found Josh.” Sam’s voice was unnaturally level, as though she was holding herself steady. 

A massive weight slammed into Chris’ chest. He struggled to gulp a breath into his lungs. He’d been trying to prepare himself for this, certain the news would come sooner or later--but god, not this soon. “They found his body?” he croaked.

Sam’s eyes widened, and she rushed forward to take Chris by the shoulders. “No. Oh, no, no, I’m so sorry for scaring you. No, Chris, he’s  _ alive _ .”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: implication of transphobia

EIGHT DAYS AFTER

It hadn’t been a surprise to get a text from Melinda Washington. Actually, they’d been in touch all week. The circumstances were...less than pleasant. Bob was upset that his entire mountain lodge had burned to the ground, and somebody had to pay (namely, the ones who set it on fire.) Melinda broke the news as gently as she possibly could, but the fact remained: she was facing down second degree arson charges and three years in prison. And she wasn’t the only one.

Sam didn’t like contemplating the possibility, but she knew it wouldn’t be hard to skew things so that Mike took the fall alone. Melinda had practically offered to throw him under the bus herself. She liked Sam, especially since she’d gotten so close to Josh in the past year, considered her a good influence. Mike, meanwhile, was the guy who’d driven her daughters over the side of a cliff. Putting him behind bars for a few years was probably the least of what Melinda would like to do. 

Of course, Sam wasn’t going to take her up on that offer. She dialed him up as soon as Melinda was finished explaining the situation, persevering through several declined calls until he finally gratified her with an exasperated “What’s up.”

“Hi! Um. How are you doing?”

“Just got out of the hospital. Like, five hours ago. Is there some kind of emergency? Because otherwise I’m going back to sleep.”

“I’m sorry to wake you up.” She really was sorry. Sleep had been a rare luxury lately, for everyone. “And I wish I could let you rest, but, yes. There kind of is an emergency. We’re both in a lot of trouble.”

“What?”

“The Washingtons want to press charges on us for burning the lodge down.”

The other line was silent for a long while. “Shit,” Mike said.

“I know.”

“They couldn’t have waited a fucking week to throw this at us?”

“As far as I know, they haven’t actually taken legal action yet. Melinda just let me know this morning. It’s her husband that’s pushing this. She wants to help us out.” (‘Us’ was a bit of an exaggeration, but Mike didn’t need to know that.)

“We’re gonna need to come up with a better story,” he told her. “The Wendigo thing won’t cut it. Maybe--okay, you won’t like this, but that old guy Chris was buddies with had a flamethrower--”

“I’m not committing perjury, Mike,” Sam cut in sternly. 

“Jesus Christ, don’t give me that. Are you even hearing yourself? They’ll probably charge us with perjury if we _do_ tell the truth.” His breathing had become heavy enough that she could hear it over the line. “Shit. SHIT. I don’t want to go to jail, Sam, fuck.”

“I know--”

“You don’t want to go to jail. _We,_ you and me, we _especially_ do not want to go to jail.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

She did. There had been an unspoken understanding between the two of them since she came out in high school; he wasn’t clockable, not by a long shot, but there were still certain tells. Things only she could’ve picked up on. It was a shame that the first outright acknowledgement of their shared experience had to come at a time like this. “I mean, you’re legally male, right?” she offered weakly.

“Oh, yeah, that makes things so much better. Maybe we can share a jail cell in the men’s prison!” His voice was picking up volume. “I’m sure once the other inmates see me in the shower I can just pop my driver’s license out and everything will be hunky dory.”

“Mike…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining about this. It’s way worse for you.”

She had no rebuttal for that. “It’s...yeah. It’s not great. But we have Melinda on our side, like I said, and she wouldn’t want that to happen to me--us. I bet they’ll just want us to pay a fine or something like that.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Sam felt the gravity of the situation settle around her shoulders in a way she hadn’t allowed it to before. Her stomach churned. Mike was speaking again, but it took her a few seconds to zone back in. 

“--for letting me know, I guess. We can meet up sometime and figure out what to do. I need to sleep. I can’t think right now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. That sounds great.” She hung up without warning. The phone peeled away from her face, a thin sheen of sweat left on its surface.

That was the last time she’d spoken to Mike. Melinda said she would call again when she had news, and Sam figured the best thing to do in the meantime was to distract herself. She picked up extra shifts at work, spent the meager remainder of her last paycheck on more cartridges for her pen, just enough to take the edge off. She never spoke a word of it to Chris--until Saturday, when her phone chirped just as she was about to clock in at the restaurant.

_9:58 am_

MELINDA: The search and rescue team found josh. 

MELINDA: He was in the mines. Just like you said he’d be.

SAM: Is he all right?

MELINDA: There is something very wrong. Were flying to the hospital now.

MELINDA: I’m so sorry we didn’t believe you, samantha. 

SAM: What do you mean? 

MELINDA: Bob and i are dropping all the property destruction charges.

MELINDA: I’m sorry. Something very wrong with joshua. 

SAM: Let me know when you’re all safe

Josh’s mother didn’t reply. Sam leaned against the wall of the break room, head reeling. Josh was alive, they were dropping the charges. _Why?_ Melinda had never been the type to be intentionally vague. What unspeakable thing was “very wrong” with--

The realization plowed her over, taking all the strength out of her knees. She slid to the floor. Josh, all alone on the mountain, freezing and half out of his mind...and hungry. He’d done what he had to do.

_11:25 am_

SAM: Melinda just told me they dropped the charges

MIKE: oh thank fuck

MIKE: why did they change their mind??

SAM: Idk.


	3. Chapter 3

NINE DAYS AFTER

For the first few days, Ashley was convinced she was going to die. Breathing was no longer an intuitive process; she had to moderate it or risk tipping over the edge into panic at every instant. Despite all her efforts there was plenty of panic anyway, hours of every day dedicated to it. She held herself so tensely it made her muscles sore. Her parents’ hands rubbed circles around her back comfortlessly, their mouths murmuring empty reassurance. Every night it was the same: “do you want to talk about it?”

And she did. She talked about it and talked about it and talked about it. It didn’t make her feel any better, just solidified the narrative in her head, sealed it into memory. Therapy was useless; she couldn’t exactly tell Dr. Ellis about being chased down by Wendigos without getting herself committed to a psych ward (though the possibility looked increasingly inviting with every passing day). Chris was ignoring her texts. Sam had assured her it was because his doctors had temporarily banned him from screen time, but he was still liking stuff on Twitter. For her part, Sam was ceaselessly patient and caring, but she didn’t seem to  _ get  _ it, was so intent on understanding and forgiving Josh that she couldn’t even be angry at him. 

But those were all the options she had, really. Emily would probably rather shop at Old Navy for the rest of her life than talk to Ash ever again. She’d never been that close to Jessica or Mike in the first place, and both of them had gone radio silent since they left the hospital. Josh was gone, and no one at school could possibly understand what she was going through, except for--well. There was Matt.

Matt, the only other one in the friend group who was still in high school, who she’d always been kind of friends with, in a weird, roundabout way. They ran in totally opposite social circles, Matt always surrounded by his football team, laughing and joking as they dominated the hallways, while she walked around with her eyes on her shoes and ate lunch in her English teacher’s classroom, but he never missed the opportunity to give her one of his brilliant smiles and a “hey, Ash!” every time they walked past each other. She wondered now how things would be when school started up again tomorrow. 

The story of the Washingtons’ lodge being destroyed had made local news in Alberta, but back home in the states it was hardly a blip on the radar. If she was a good enough actor, nobody would even be able to tell anything had happened to her--if it weren’t for the black eye Josh left her with after she stabbed him. Yeah, that would draw attention. Matt looked a bit worse for wear last time she saw him in the hospital, but he could probably chalk up his bruises and twisted muscles to a sports injury. Everyone was going to assume she was getting beaten at home or something, and then every well-intentioned student body officer and school counselor would be on her case about it, and she’d have to think about Josh again, and probably start bawling like a child and make a huge fool of herself. That settled it: there was no way she was going back to class. Not until the bruise healed.

Unfortunately, her parents immediately vetoed this decision.

“I just need _one week,_ ” Ashley begged. “They’re going to stare, and--”  
“Oh, honey, it doesn’t look that bad,” her mother said. She probably thought she sounded comforting. It made Ash’s guts roil with irritation.

“It’s not about looking  _ pretty,  _ I just don’t want people to ask me questions, and besides, I don’t know if I’m ready to go back anyway! All those crowds, and the homework, and with everything that’s going on…”

“You need to get back into the swing of things,” her dad replied. “This is going to help life feel normal again. I promise.”

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream. She wanted Chris to fucking text her back instead of hiding like a coward. She opted for crying again, instead, and her parents went back to cooing “it’ll be alright” as she watched the droplets tumble from her eyelashes to her lap, red-faced and so, so utterly exhausted. There was something about all this that felt so wrong, as if she was puppeteering the corpse of a memory, trying to act like it was still alive. She shook off her parents’ embrace and stumbled downstairs.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, but her legs steered her away from her room and into the one that was once her older brother’s. Brian was away at college now, but most of his things remained untouched. She wasn’t sure when she’d last been in here, but the familiar newness of it was comforting. Brian was always the more difficult child out of the two fo them. Ash wondered what it would be like to fill his shoes for a day; just cut class to go sit by the creek and think about anarchy or whatever it was he did. All that was missing was one of those godawful cigarettes he used to keep hidden in his desk.

Huh.

Curiosity overcoming her, Ash pulled open the bottom drawer. It was full of dusty, crumpled soda cans and other clutter. She pushed them aside to find, sure enough, a rolled up sock--and inside--wow. Brian must have been really distracted when he was moving, because there’s no way Ash could imagine her brother intentionally leaving behind an unopened package of perfectly good Lucky Strikes. His lighter, too, the one his ex-girlfriend painted a cactus on. 

Ashley locked Brian’s door and opened the window. If she couldn’t skip class, well, at least she could have this. She threw the plastic wrapper aside and stuck one of the cigarettes between her lips (after checking with Google to make sure she had it the right way). Leaning out into the window well, she lit the end and took a long drag. Managed it without coughing, even. It was a little bit like smoking weed, although it didn’t taste as good. Her body felt pleasantly heavy. She smoked the rest of it, tossed the butt into Brian’s desk drawer, and brought the rest with her to her own room, collapsing into bed with leaden limbs. 

Dazedly, in her last few moments awake, she pictured herself lighting up another one beneath the school bleachers at lunch.  _ Ash Brown, the smoker. _ That was something new. 

It might be nice to try something new, for once.


End file.
